


The Banks of All Reason

by audreycritter



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, This is DUMB, alfred is briefly on the phone, bruce is a dork, fluff mostly, no profreading we die like mne, selina is long-suffering, toxins and antidotes, zero sexy times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 22:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11769726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreycritter/pseuds/audreycritter
Summary: Bruce shows up at Selina's apartment after being exposed to a toxin and an antidote. He is...not handling either well. Fortunately, Selina is kind of a nice person and won't tease him about it later...too much.





	The Banks of All Reason

**Author's Note:**

> what is canon. what are timelines. who can say.
> 
> thanks to cerusee for ideas including, but not limited to: bruce smelling AWFUL right out of the suit, cat type, and cat name  
> thanks to komadoriwonder for cat cuddling idea and pre-reading help  
> thanks to jerseydevious for being a fellow bruce fan and for encouragement/excitement about dumb bruce stuff.
> 
> title taken from Shearwater's "Pale Kings" which fits the story only minimally but is lovely and Bruce-ish and you should go listen to it anyway.

It was well past midnight but Selina Kyle wasn’t asleep. She wasn’t  _out_ , either; she’d opted for a night in, with leggings and Thai take-out and binge-watching old seasons of Project Runway. It was a good mindless sort of relaxing that she fully intended to follow-up with a bubble bath and maybe some French philosophy essays to balance out the Netflix spree. Maybe some wine, or ice cream, or both.

It almost made her wish she’d snuck into Wayne Manor for access to the best of those things, or even wine sorbet if she was lucky.

She was just about to go run a bath when she walked by the balcony sliding glass door with a handful of empty take-out containers and did a double-take.

Batman was on the balcony, but not perched on the railing or picking the lock or about to knock. No, he was on the balcony and stretched out, face down. The cape was over his head.

She couldn’t see any blood pooling around him but she flipped the lock, moved the slide-barring rod, and shoved the door open.

“Batman,” she hissed, dropping to her knees next to his head. She pulled the cape away from his face and he groaned into the concrete.

“Stop,” he ordered.

“What happened?” Selina demanded, sweeping him with her eyes. She still couldn’t see any visible damage, but that suit could hide a lot.

“M’fine,” he mumbled. “Just need to sleep.”

“You’re on my balcony,” Selina said, shoving his shoulder with her bare foot. Between his weight and the armored plating, it barely gave at all. It was like nudging a rock.

“Hm?” he mumbled, without moving. “Not a dumpster.”

His words were slurred just enough to make her seriously doubt his self-evaluation of “fine.” She prodded him again, this time hard enough to lift his shoulder an inch.

“‘Not a dumpster’ like you’re just realizing this, or ‘not a dumpster’ like it’s an improvement?”

“Improvement,” he said, shoving gently at her ankle. “Stop.”

“Up,” she said. “If you can. And inside.”

And then, while she was staring down at him, he pulled the cape back over his head and whined—  _whined_ , Bruce “The Batman” Wayne— from beneath the fabric.

“It’ll be too hot. Breeze is nice.”

Selina frowned at him and went inside, leaving the door open. She leaned against the counter and watched him. After a moment, she picked up her cell phone from where it was charging, unplugged it, and scrolled through the contacts.

The line rang twice before it was answered by a familiar and precise British voice.

“Hello. Alfred Pennyworth speaking.”

“Hiya, Al,” Selina greeted, hopping up onto her counter to sit perched on the edge. “I’ve got a question.”

“I presume this isn’t a social call, Miss Kyle,” Alfred said. He didn’t sound like someone just woken from slumber, but more like she’d called in the early afternoon to chat.

“I’ve got a rodent problem,” she said, still watching through the sliding glass. If she took her eyes off Batman, there was a very real chance he’d be gone the next time she looked.

“How unfortunate for you,” Alfred said. “Are your feline companions of no assistance?”

“It’s a really big rodent,” Selina said with a grin. “I was wondering if maybe you’d lost one recently?”

“Selina.” The deep voice traveled through the open door and across the room, just a touch of commanding authority in it. It vanished almost immediately. “Selina, I  _miss_  you.”

“I’m afraid I have,” Alfred answered after a pause. “Shall I come and collect this one? Or send someone over?”

“I think we’re okay,” Selina said. “Just wondering if there’s anything I should know about rodent care. Do you know if this one’s been injured or drugged recently?”

“If you’ll pardon me for just a moment?” Alfred asked, sounding just on the edge of worried.

“Sure,” Selina said. There was a bowl of fruit near her on the counter and she looked through it and found a pear. She took a bite while there was silence on the other end of the phone.

“I like your hair,” Batman said hopefully, from outside. He still was lying face down. “And your neck.”

“Are you trying to  _lure_  me back outside?” Selina called back to him. In response, he shrugged one shoulder. Flat on the concrete, obscured by the cape, it looked a lot like twitching.

“Is it working?” he asked. “I miss you. You smelled good.”

“That was the Thai,” Selina said. “Are you hungry?”

“Not for Thai,” he replied. It sounded like he was trying to flirt but everything was muffled by the concrete and the cape and the space between them, and he mostly just sounded pathetic. He shifted slightly and then added, in an entirely different tone, “Wait. No, Thai sounds good.”

“It’s gone,” Selina said. “I ate it all. You’ll have to come in and order more.”

“Miss Kyle?” the voice from the phone said.

“I’m still here,” she confirmed. The pear juice was all over her hand and she threw the core away from where she was sitting, and leaned to rinse her hand off in the sink. It took some maneuvering to do so while still managing the phone and watching Batman.

“Cell phones work outside, Selina,” Batman grumbled after a delay. “You’re a terrible hostess.”

“I didn’t invite you,” she reminded him. “Sorry, Al. The rodent is…being snide.”

“As rodents are wont to do,” Alfred said dryly. “I have been informed he did indeed suffer a minor exposure to toxins this evening and self-treated with an antidote. I’m told the side effects ought to wear off in a few hours. Shall I come retrieve him after all?”

“Nah,” Selina said. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll be fine.”

“Dammit,” Batman said, in a too-loud whisper. “Can’t get signal.”

“That’s your cowl, B,” Selina said, looking around on the counter. She spotted the bottle and snatched it.

“Barbara, stop  _laughing_ ,” Batman growled. It was very much like pleading. “This comm is useless. Who designed this.”

“Are you quite certain?” Alfred asked over the phone.

“Positive,” Selina said. “I’ll call if there are problems but take the night off. Enjoy it.”

“Very well. Have an…entertaining morning, Miss Kyle. I wish you the very best.”

The line clicked off and she set her phone down and went back out onto the balcony, the spray bottle in her hand. She crouched next to him and yanked the cape off his head.

“Stop,” he said, right before she squirted a mist of water in his face.

“Inside,” Selina said. “Let’s go. I’m not babysitting you halfway out of the apartment all night.”

“Felt nice,” Batman answered, and she sighed and stood. She tugged on the cape.

“Up.”

Batman made a series of grumbling noises, thick with irritation, but he pushed himself up and stumbled inside. He stopped a few steps in and swayed on his feet. Selina closed the sliding door, locked it again, and drew the curtain.

“Is my apartment always this small.”

“It’s not your apartment,” Selina told him. “Let’s get the suit off and hidden somewhere.”

“You want to take my suit off?” he asked with a smirk. He listed far to the left, which somewhat ruined the effect, and she reached out a hand to steady him.

“I want  _you_  to take your suit off,” Selina corrected. “So it doesn’t shock or maim me. I’ll go find a bag or something to wrap it in.”

She went hunting in the hall closet, which was surprisingly full for a place she’d only been in six months or so. She could hear him muttering darkly to himself the entire time, and  _thunks_  as he dropped pieces of the detached and separated suit onto the floor.

“Careful,” she warned. “Don’t set any smoke bombs or anything off.”

In response, he dropped the next part with an even heavier thud, almost like he’d shoved it toward the floor with some force.

Selina turned to face him with an oversized black plastic bag in her hand. Whatever sharp retort she had died on her lips; he was standing in base layer shorts and tank top, his eyes closed, his hair a tangled and flattened mess pressed slick against his scalp. She didn’t entirely trust him to stay upright for very long, from the look of him.

“Sit,” she ordered, beginning to gather the suit pieces and throw them in the bag. But two steps closer and she covered her nose with the inside of her elbow, one of his gauntlets dangling from her fingers. “Don’t,” she snapped on second thought. “God, Bruce, you  _reek_.”

“Thank you,” he said mildly.

“No, I mean even worse than usual,” Selina said, into her arm.

“Usual?” he echoed, with faint hurt.

“You shoved yourself into all this mess and sweated all over it,” Selina said, gesturing with the bag to the suit. “Don’t act so surprised. Do you think you can manage a shower?”

“Red is hot, blue is cold,” he said.

“You’re an  _ass_ ,” she shot back, kicking at his shin before picking up the boots. “Towels are in the…you know where the damn towels are, why am I telling you. Shit, I can’t even  _think_  straight, that’s how bad it is.”

“Did I mention there was a dumpster?” Bruce was staring at his arm like he was surprised to see it. “Why does my arm hurt.”

“I didn’t think you meant you actually  _climbed inside_ ,” Selina said, setting the black bag aside and pinching her nose to look at his arm. There were long bruises and gashes over the scars already there. “Those are going to get infected. Go clean up and I’ll find something to put on them.”

Bruce trudged down the hall and a moment later the shower started up. Selina looked around for somewhere to stow the black bag and settled on under the bed, and then began a hunt for clothes.

There was a loud bang from the bathroom, a crashing noise followed by a series of thumps and what sounded like an entire shelf of containers upended.

“I’m alright,” Bruce called in the silence that followed. “There isn’t that much blood.”

The door wasn’t even locked, which saved Selina several seconds of work, and she flung it open to see disaster. The shower was still running, the curtain pulled halfway off the rings, and Bruce was sitting in the bathtub surrounded by hair products with a hand to his ear. Blood seeped over his fingers.

“Did you fall?” Selina asked, reaching and turning off the water. It was running frigid and she was regretting leaving him on his own. She threw a towel on the wet floor and another at his shoulders, and he wrapped it around himself without standing.

“No,” he said sullenly. “I was attacked.”

“By  _what_?” Selina asked, looking around the bathroom.

“Soap,” Bruce said, just as sullen as before. “It has glitter in it.”

“Let me see your ear,” Selina said, deciding to not even try to sort out anything else until the blood was cleaned up. She knelt next to the tub and examined the scrape across the top of his ear when he moved his hand away. “It doesn’t look too bad. I don’t know what to give you to wear, though.”

“I left a change of clothes here,” Bruce said with a shiver. “In your closet, behind the box of purses.”

“When?” Selina asked, incredulous. She definitely would have noticed, she was pretty sure. “I’ll check. Are you okay for thirty seconds or is something else going to end up broken?”

“M’fine,” Bruce pulled the towel over his head.

In the bedroom, sure enough, Selina found a small, neatly closed paper sack with a pair of sweats and a tee. She returned to the bathroom with the items in her hands, pushing open the half-shut door with, “I found them.”

“Why do you keep  _leaving_?” Bruce complained. She stopped and stared down at him. He’d slumped down in the tub and was lying with the oversized towel spread out like a blanket. It was soaked in some places and had patches of blood in others. “You made me get wet and cold and then you  _left_. You  _left_  me.”

“Ohmigod,” Selina muttered under her breath, pressing a hand against her eyes. She inhaled and grabbed another towel and raised her voice to a conversational volume, going for somewhere between cheerful and consoling. “I went to get clothes. You told me where they were.”

She dried his hair off rather than trying to get him to do it, and from beneath the towel he made a startled noise. Her hands froze.

“You okay?”

“Feels good,” he said quietly. “But you left.”

“I’m back,” she said. “And you are a walking disaster.”

“I’m not  _walking_ ,” he protested. “I’m…I’m…”

She finished drying his hair and waited. His eyes widened and he looked around.

“Why am I in a bathtub,” he asked. “Did I die?”

“What?” Selina blinked. “Why would you…what do either of those things have anything to do with each other?”

“A Lazarus tub,” he said, starting to laugh. He tried to sit up but fell back and his head hit the tub with a cringe-worthy noise. “Ow. A Lazarus  _bathtub_.”

Selina did not think this was as nearly as funny as he seemed to think, and she let him laugh until he coughed and then sighed.

“You done?”

“A Lazarus tub,” he said, laughing a little again. “Damn. How long was I dead.”

“You weren’t dead,” she said with a small sigh of her own. It was, actually, kind of a  _little_  bit funny.

“Is that why you left. Because I died.”

“You didn’t die, Bruce,” Selina said, deciding maybe it wasn’t funny after all. He was shivering again, even with the towel. “You need to get dressed so I can look at your arm again.”

“Go out,” Bruce ordered, his cheeks flushing just to a pale rose tinge.

“For you to get dressed?” Selina raised an eyebrow.

“I’m shy,” he said stubbornly, dragging the towel up over his face.

Selina couldn’t hold back the bark of a laugh that sprang out of her and he tugged the towel down to give her a distinctly wounded expression.

“You’ve never been shy in your life,” Selina retorted.

“I wear a mask,” Bruce said. “It helps.”

“I’ve seen what you exercise in,” Selina met his gaze with an equally serious one. “It is not what a shy person wears.”

“So I’ve learned. I know now that you’ll mock me.”

“You,” Selina said, “are…possibly the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met.”

“Don’t be hyperbolistic. You’ve met Dick. You’ve met all my sons.” Bruce shuddered and she guessed it had more to do with cold than the topic.

“Okay, fine,” she said. “I’m going out but if I even  _think_  you’re about to fall again…”

“I  _didn’t_  fall. Stop making things up,” Bruce snapped. “I didn’t die, either. I’d remember something like that.”

Selina pressed her lips together and stepped out of the bathroom and shut the door. She took a moment to remind herself that he had some sort of toxin and an antidote both coursing through his system.

She gave him a couple of minutes and when he still hadn’t come out, she knocked gently on the door.

“Bruce? Are you still conscious?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

She opened the door. He was sitting on the vanity, his back leaning against the mirror. He was dressed and his eyes were closed.

“I got tired,” he said, when she moved past him to hang up the discarded towel. She doubted the blood would come out but she wasn’t going to try to save it right now.

“There’s a bed if you want to sleep.”

“Can’t,” he said.

“Can’t because of antidote or can’t because…?” Selina hunted in the cabinet for the first aid kit and hopped up next to him on the long counter. A quick wrap of her fingers around his wrist and she had his arm; she peered at the gashes and then found antibiotic ointment to coat them with. They didn’t look deep enough for sutures.

He was utterly silent while she bandaged his arm, a neat row of generic tan bandaids across two of the longer gashes. His ear had stopped bleeding and didn’t seem to need anything, so she closed the kit with a click of the plastic latch.

“Bed?” she prompted. He hadn’t answered her yet.

“I’d be lonely,” he said, with a plaintive flatness. “I came here  _not_  to be lonely. I think.”

“I can keep you company,” Selina promised, slipping off the counter.

“The bedroom is dark,” he said. “I’m not dressed for dark.”

Selina gave him a once over, with his bandaged arm and his sweat pants and his hair sticking up on one side from her towel drying. “I don’t think you’re dressed for anything,” she said.

His eyes flew open and he looked down at himself.

“I’m dressed,” he said, like he had just realized.

“Couch, big guy,” she said, motioning to the hall. “Come on.”

He stumbled when his feet hit the floor and she walked behind him, not certain she could do more than break his fall if he did topple over. He managed to stay upright until the couch, though, where he stretched out with a small groan.

“I’m so dizzy. Did we get drunk.”

“I’m going to call Alfred,” she said, crouching and tousling his hair first. “Did you hit your head on anything on the way over? You keep forgetting things.”

“An elephant,” he informed her seriously, with one eye cracked open, “is…never…forgotten?”

It ended on an actual note of upward inflection, which was alarming in itself for him.

“Yeah, I’m calling Alfred. Just to check.”

“Don’t leave,” he said, grabbing her leg when she stood. She shook off the loose grip and pushed his hair off his forehead.

“I’m not going far. My phone’s in the kitchen. You’ll be able to hear me the whole time.”

“Don’t tell Alfred,” Bruce said sternly.

“Don’t tell him what?” Selina asked.

“That I broke your shower,” Bruce said. “Did I break your shower? My head feels like a bad dream.”

“I won’t tell him,” Selina said. “I’m getting you some water.”

“From the Manor?” Bruce exclaimed, sitting halfway up while she walked away. “ _Selina_. You don’t need to make Alfred get water. I can get my own damn glass of water.”

“Don’t get up,” Selina said. He slumped back against the couch with a grumpy frown and hugged himself with tightly crossed arms. It would have been humorous except any mix of annoyance and amusement was quickly being negated by his frighteningly unbalanced mental state.

Alfred answered on the second ring, again.

“Miss Kyle,” he greeted. “Is everything alright?”

“Hey, Alfred,” Selina said. “I’m not sure. You don’t happen to know if he hit his head, too, do you? He’s…not quite all there tonight.”

“I’m completely here,” Bruce yelled from the couch. “Don’t tell him that.”

“I see,” Alfred said, as calm as ever. “There were no reports of head injury but that hardly rules one out. It is, however, more likely that the…symptoms…are the side effects of the antidote. It has been known to act strangely.”

“Is he telling you I can be two places at once?” Bruce demanded. “That was  _one time_  and it’s never happening again.”

“I’ll check his head, I guess,” Selina said, ignoring Bruce. “But it’s probably that.”

“Shall I come after all?” Alfred offered. “I’d rather hate to impose on you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Selina said. “He’s doing all the imposing by himself just fine. As long as he’s not severely concussed, I think we’re okay.”

After the mere formalities of farewells, she hung up and filled a glass with water. Bruce had fallen completely quiet and she hoped he was sleeping it off, whatever it was, but she took the water into the living room anyway.

He was not sleeping.

He was sitting up, a small ball of black and orange fluff on his lap— the tortoiseshell cat she’d brought home just over a month ago. Bruce was scratching it behind the ears like it was a puppy and the cat was purring like a tiny engine.

“This,” he said in a low voice, “is a very soft cat.”

“She is,” Selina agreed, sitting next to him. He edged away from her, angling his shoulders to guard the cat from her outstretched hand.

“You left again,” he said. “This cat didn’t.”

“I was–you were yelling at me while I talked on the–” Selina waved a hand at the kitchen. “I was  _right there_.”

Bruce lifted the cat and held it tucked under his chin. The cat curled up obligingly on his arm and purred even more loudly. He rubbed under its small chin with a thumb. “Does it have a name.”

“Portia,” Selina said. “Let me check your head.”

He  _had_  been upset about the towel-drying earlier and she hadn’t totally dismissed concerns about a concussion. He didn’t argue or pull away when she ran her fingers along his scalp, searching for any bumps or gashes or tender spots he’d react to, even slightly.

But he was distracted enough to stop petting the cat, who pawed and nudged at his hand for a moment and then grew impatient. With a flick of her short tail, she stretched and squirmed away from his arm and leapt down.

Selina didn’t think much of it until she sat back, satisfied that he wasn’t hiding a head injury, and saw the shocked expression on his face.

“You drove Portia away,” he said.

“She’s little. She gets bored,” Selina said, with a shrug.

“You drove her to violence and then she left,” he said, in a tone of outright disbelief.

“What violence?” Selina laughed, glancing at the cat— she’d already moved on to stalking a plush mouse.

He held his hand out in front of him and Selina made out two faint scratches between his thumb and index finger. She blinked.

“She barely drew blood. Those are nothing.”

“They sting,” Bruce said. “Like hell. She was really soft, Selina. You upset her somehow.”

“I didn’t,” she insisted, feeling like this was futile and irrational, but unable to resist defending herself at least a little.

“Then I did. What did I do. I don’t think cats like me. Damian’s cat hates me. I must have hurt her.”

He was staring at the cat and Selina reached out and took his face in her hands and turned it toward herself.

“Bruce. Calm down. The cat is being a cat. You’re fine.”

“I push things away,” he said, his pale blue eyes wide and his brow creased with worry. “I know I do.”

Selina frowned and studied his face, trying to decide how much he was really registering. He seemed lucid enough, even if moods were wildly springing all over the place. And realizing he probably meant it, even if was more than he’d normally show, made her ache a little.

“C’mere,” she said, patting her lap.

“I’m not sitting on you,” he said with a touch of horror. “I’d break you.”

“Lie down, you idiot,” Selina said. “And don’t make me sound fragile or I’ll dislocate your arm.”

Bruce tipped sideways, curled up on the couch instead of stretched out, and settled his head in her lap. It was probably the most normal of all the things that he’d done that night, and so she didn’t think twice about slipping a hand over to rub his back.

“You don’t push me away as often as I run,” Selina said after thinking about it. He was a difficult man to console on a good day, since he rarely accepted false or pleasant answers just to feel better. It meant that the only thing left was either avoidance or the truth.

“Hm,” he said, as if mulling over the thought.

“And not everyone leaves because of something you did,” Selina said, thinking of what she knew of the boys. It was never complete stories but she felt like she understood  _enough_  for this at least. “I’m sure you make it difficult sometimes, but people need space for other reasons, too. It’s not always your fault.”

“I put Gotham first,” Bruce said. “Strangers. I don’t know when to stop. It never feels like someone else’s problem.”

“Your problem is that you love too many people,” Selina said decidedly. “That’s your problem. You fell in love with an entire city and you’re only one person. I’d like to think that for the most part, your family understands that.”

“It still hurts them,” Bruce said, his face half-buried in her lap. He sighed again. “I don’t see it until it’s too late. And I can’t fix it. I don’t blame them for being angry.”

“They do love you, you know that, right?” Selina asked, shaking his shoulder a little. “And they know you love them. If you think they don’t, you can fix  _that_  if you just say something.”

“I’m bad at saying things,” Bruce said bluntly.

“You’re  _awful_  at saying things sometimes. But not always.” Selina’s hand still traced circles on his back. She thought of more than one time he’d refused to doubt her the way she doubted herself; his stark refusal to believe she was all she claimed. She’d clung to that like a lifeline before.

The living room was quiet for a long time before he shifted and her fingers moved on to running through his hair.

“Are you getting sleepy?” she asked with a yawn.

“You smell good,” he mumbled groggily. “Always do. And your hair is like a nice blanket.”

“I should send you to bed but I want to hear you talk about me some more,” Selina said with a teasing grin she knew he couldn’t see. “Go on.”

“I’m rather fond of your ass,” he said thoughtfully.

“You managed to make that sound like the furthest thing from a compliment,” Selina said, flicking the ear that hadn’t been bleeding earlier. He twisted to look up at her.

“I mean it,” he said with a serious frown.

“Keep going.”

“You challenge me,” he said. “You make me laugh. Your face is perfect. You gave me concealer once and it was good concealer.”

“It  _was_  good concealer,” Selina agreed. “I’m glad it wasn’t wasted.”

“You don’t steal from me  _often_ ,” he added. “I appreciate that.”

“What toxin did you get into again? I think I need to find some in case I need an ego boost sometime,” Selina leaned forward and kissed his forehead and Bruce froze and stopped talking, stopped moving; she was sure after a second he’d even stopped breathing. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“What just happened.”

“I…kissed your head?” Selina offered, curious and confused.

“Oh,” he said, relaxing. “I thought I was being shocked.”

“Is that what a kiss feels like to you? Shocking?”

“When I’m not expecting it, yes.”

“Hm,” Selina said, filing this away. “You should probably try to sleep this off, as much fun as I’m having. How’s your arm?”

“Attached,” he said calmly. “Kiss me again.”

“Maybe when you can hold a thought for more than ten seconds,” she said, patting his cheek. “Are you sleeping in the bed or passing out here on the couch?”

“Where will you be?” Bruce pressed his head more firmly against her lap. “Here?”

“Wherever you want me,” Selina offered.

Bruce didn’t get up and she didn’t push for him to.

It was several hours later they woke, tangled and stiff on the couch. He rolled over on the floor with a thud and a curse and a soft moan.

“My head is killing me,” he said from the carpet. “I was an idiot last night.”

“How much do you remember?” Selina asked, peering over the edge of the couch and down at him.

“Unfortunately all of it. I think,” Bruce said, throwing an arm over his face. “I should have gone home.”

“You can come be toxin-drunk at my place any time,” Selina said with a grin. “I’m going back to bed but help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”

“I don’t suppose you have any preservation of dignity in the cabinets,” Bruce asked, almost hopefully.

“Fresh out,” Selina said, standing and stretching. Her bed was more comfortable than the couch by far and she intended to make the most of it. “Good luck.”

“I need more sleep,” Bruce said, grumbling and propping himself up on an elbow and then giving up and falling back on the carpet. “I need to sleep for at least a day. Just live around me. Tell Alfred you lost me.”

“If I tell him that,” Selina said, pausing in the hallway to stretch again. She was way too old to sleep in weird pretzel shapes on couches anymore, “he’s going to come over here looking for you to make sure you’re still alive.”

“Put a newspaper by my head and take a picture,” Bruce suggested. “I’m not moving until this headache goes away.”

“I’m going to be asleep,” Selina said. “You take the picture yourself.”

“Did the Thai ever come last night?”

“You tried to order it from your cowl,” Selina said, continuing toward the bedroom. “Which is under the bed, by the way.”

“Dammit,” Bruce sighed after her, his voice so low she could barely hear him. “I really wanted curry.”


End file.
